A Match Made in Hell
by Pellaaearien
Summary: POTC:DMC. Will discovers he's not the only one living on the Flying Dutchman. But Ventress Larke is no chance acquaintance. Will she be able to put aside her own desires in the name of honour? One-shot, with sequel to follow if I get enough reviews.


**Disclaimer: **I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean, or any of the names, characters, and events therewith associated. Everything except Ventress is the property of Jerry Bruckheimer, Gore Verbinski, and Disney.

**A/N: **So here it is, my first POTC fanfic! I'll leave it up for a while before I post the sequel (which I have completed writing as well). This is my first attempt at a one-shot, but the sequel will be in chapters. If I get enough positive reviews about this first installment, I might be pursuaded to put up the first chapter of the second story a little sooner! This took much agonizing and editing and adding to shape up into what it is now, and I'm still not completely satisfied (but then that could be said about all my stories - I'm a bit of a perfectionist), but I thought I've waited long enough to put it on the site. Again, it is an OC fic, those being my best (and pretty much only) work, so probably the only kind of writing of mine you'll see in public. And no, it is not a Book Magic fic, as my inspiration has run dry on that front. I'm hoping once I get these other stories off my chest and clean house, as it were, ideas will return, but for now Book Magic is on the back burner. Please be patient.

And so without further ado, please enjoy:

* * *

**A Match Made in Hell**

_Elizabeth… just think of Elizabeth. _It was the only thing that had gotten him through his days on this damned ship. Thinking of Elizabeth; her waves of taffee-coloured hair, her full ruby mouth, the pureness of her eyes… her bosom…

"Turner!" Will shook himself out of his reverie, a sudden breaking swell aiding him out of visions of Elizabeth's chest. It was the boson – the devil even more than Jones, in Will's opinion. He went about his orders, knowing they were his. In light of the incident when he had first met his father, his name on board now went without a prefix.

His father… Will wished that he hadn't met him. Before that fateful instant when he had first realised that there were two Turners aboard the _Dutchman_, his memories of his father had been vague, distant sights and smells with an underlying theme of happiness and love. Now the hunched, broken, rotting _thing_ that called himself Bootstrap loomed large in his mind, overshadowing and almost destroying those earlier versions. And yet – he couldn't quite seem to be able to disassociate himself from his new father. It was confusing, to be sure. But it kept his mind off the horrors of day-to-day service.

He had no sooner finished his task when the boson called his name again. "Turner! To the rigging with you, boy! Take in the mainsail!" Will ran to the mast, using the maze of ropes and handholds to get himself to the huge sail. There were a few others also working on this level.

He grabbed one of the ropes to tie in the heaving canvas, but the ship pitched suddenly and the huge mass snapped out and away in a gust. Will hung on for dear life – he could have been picked off to his death in so many moments. As the ship settled, he prepared himself for another try.

"Let me help you with that, mate!" Another voice made itself heard over the wind. To his surprise and confusion, it was not the harsh, grating sound of one of the dead partisans of the _Dutchman_. Besides that, none of them would have offered to help. But coming out of the mist was another person like himself – not dead, nor dying. He nodded his grateful thanks and together they got their part of the sail tied down.

Back on deck, the weather subsiding, and their work done for the time being, his helper showed him into one of the below deck cabins.

"Thank-you," Will said.

"It was nothing." There was an encrusted broken mirror on the wall, hardly usable, but the stranger looked into it now, taking off an over-coat and hat. Under the hat was a leather kerchief that covered his hair. As he began untying the intricate knot, Will continued.

"I wasn't aware that there was someone else like me aboard. Why are you here?"

The knot came undone and the kerchief came off, sending a mass of auburn waves cascading down. And now that the overcoat was off, Will saw _her _chest. It was a she!

"I'm here to pay Jack's debt."

Will blinked.

"Jack? Jack Sparrow?"

Her eyes widened as she turned back to look at him, and Will was struck by the power of her amazingly gray eyes. "You know him too? Then you know about the _Pearl_? I was worried about him. His deal for the _Black Pearl _is up – I saw Captain Jones talking with him but I couldn't get close enough."

"We seem to be of like predicament," Will replied, carefully avoiding the subject. He held out his hand. "Name's Will Turner."

She took it. "Ventress Larke. You can call me Tress for short. Everyone does… or they did." Suddenly she did a double-take. "Will Turner? But we already have one!"

"My father. It's complicated," he said, as her mouth opened for a flood of questions. "But it has quite a bit to do with Jack."

"I can imagine. Anything that involves Jack usually is."

"You seem to know quite a bit about him."

"I was on his crew."

"And then he left you here?" Will's voice was bleak. He didn't have a very high opinion of the pirate, but it was lower than even his judgement of Jack's character to leave a woman stranded in the clutches of Davy Jones.

"I volunteered."

"Why?"

"To spare him – and the men."

Will was more confused than before. "I don't understand."

Tress looked away, her eyes distant. "When I was eight years old, there was a terrible shipwreck. Lightning hit the powder magazine during a hurricane. All hands were lost – my parents included."

Without thinking, Will reached out and took her hand. Her tale had stirred similar feelings within him. Tress looked vaguely surprised, but made no move to pull away. She needed the comfort as much as he did. Each caught the other's eyes without meaning to and read there the loss, the pain, and the longing. Will's deep brown eyes steadied her. She continued.

"By some stroke of chance or fate, I survived. I drifted for three days, never seeing sight of land or vessel. I was about ready to give in, but suddenly, a ship appeared on the horizon. They hauled me aboard. There stood my rescuer – Captain Jack Sparrow, rum bottle in hand. The men didn't want to have a woman aboard, but Jack said that was superstitious nonsense. He took me in… cared for me… raised me on the sea, among pirates. Probably not the most auspicious upbringing, but 'twas good enough for me." Her eyes softened. "He was for all intents and purposes my father, and I grew to love him, in his roguish way. When I was sixteen I became a full-fledged member of his crew, and a pirate. Jack took it into his head to get treasure no one had ever gained before and to become the greatest menace of the seas. Then he could retire. Maybe, deep down in his heart, he wanted a better life for me. I don't know. But to get to the unknown treasure, he would have to go somewhere no one had ever been. There was rumour of a woman living in the south isles that could point you towards your greatest desire. Of course his greatest desire was unclaimed gold, so he met with Tia Dalma and, after a discussion to which I was not privy, gained the compass."

Will thought it was ironic that he should hear the whole back story to his previous alliance with Jack on the _Flying Dutchman, _but he was glad to know the truth of the matter.

"But of course, the compass could not point him to Isla de la Muerta, because he didn't know it existed," Tress continued, "but it pointed him towards his meeting with someone who did."

"Jones," Will mused.

"Yes. But something happened then that Jack did not intend. A dreadful storm came up – we had run straight into a hurricane. The _Pearl_ sank with all hands – including Jack."

Will stared. The _Pearl_ had sunk? Jack had died? Had Tress?

"Jack, however, was not dead – he managed to get to the surface… where he met Davy Jones." Will suddenly thought he saw where this was going. He let Tress continue.

"Now, I had gone down with the ship, but I hadn't died. Jones and his men had me, and when Jack saw, I think he was upset. It's so hard to tell what that man is thinking." Will silently agreed – though it was difficult to imagine Jack "upset".

"He wanted the _Pearl_ back, obviously," Tress said, "and he wanted me. So he made a deal – Jones would raise the _Pearl_, and in exchange, after thirteen years as captain, Jack's soul would belong to Jones."

"And he accepted?" Will was incredulous. This was a completely different Jack from the one he had met. Perhaps this incident was the one that had changed him – along with the mutiny of Barbossa. Jack had needed a lot of lessons.

"Well, Jones tricked him, you see. He led Jack to believe that I was included in the deal. But only after the deed was done and Jack tried to take me away did Jones tell him of the clause in the contract. He wanted a good faith payment. All of the crew were dead – he had no one but himself and me to bargain with."

"So, you volunteered?" Will couldn't imagine caring for Sparrow that much.

"I've been serving before the mast these thirteen years," Tress asserted.

Thirteen years! He had hardly been aboard thirteen days and couldn't stand it. But how could someone live among these half-dead creatures for thirteen years, without another living soul in sight? And all for Jack Sparrow.

Tress shook her head. "I figured I was dead anyway. Jones had had me before Jack started to 'negotiate.' And all that would have meant nothing if Jack had to give himself as the good faith payment. It wouldn't have made any sense. So I went in his place, and gained the hatred of Jones for it. Jones had wanted to trap Jack by putting in that loophole – the fact that I would volunteer undermined his plan. So I set sail on the _Flying Dutchman, _with the captain the Devil, who hated me, and Jack, with his _Pearl_, set off for Tortuga, there to pick up another crew and find the treasure which would make him immortal – thereby making his deal with Jones invalid, and perhaps… getting me back, I suppose."

As she talked Tress' hand in his had caressed slowly up and down his palm, then moved to the front, then up his arm. As Will became aware of it, so did she, and she drew back her hand quickly.

"I'm sorry. It's just… to feel living flesh again…"

"It's all right – I understand," Will said. After a brief interlude of uncertainty, Tress' desire won over and she began to touch him again, up and down his arms. Will thought briefly of Elizabeth – would this be considered unfaithfulness? But he still loved her, and the woman before him had not felt the living for over a decade. There, in that cabin, surrounded by death, seemed like the greatest sanctuary in the world.

The spell was abruptly broken when the ship's bell rang.

"All hands on deck, all hands on deck!"

They looked at each other, then both got up to do the boson's bidding, Tress pausing only to retie her kerchief over her head.

"To keep out the salt," she explained, and then the two were out on the cold, dead deck.

The boson looked coldly at them.

"It's the rack for you, Miss Larke; Turner – aloft!"

They went as they were ordered, but Will's heart was burning. He had seen how the men on the rack were treated, and he feared Miss Larke was going to get no different.

After his work in the rigging was done, Will was mostly with his father for the rest of the shift, trying to catch a glimpse of Tress. But she was nowhere to be seen amidst the bustle of the _Dutchman _at work.

When at last he stumbled back below, he went in search of Tress. He went back to the cabin where he had spent the afternoon – the door was closed, and there were small sounds coming from inside.

He knocked. "Miss Larke?" No one answered, but overcome with anxiety, he opened the door anyway.

Tress was sitting in the middle of her cabin, facing away from him, trying to clean the cruel stripes on her back herself. She wasn't wearing a shirt. Will's heart went out to her. He remembered his flogging from the boson, and the pain he had endured, even though it had been at his father's hand. He couldn't imagine what would have happened to him if it had been the boson with the lash in his hand. And he couldn't help but notice that older scars crossed Tress' back – from previous floggings, he supposed. He entered the room in spite of himself, closing the door behind him.

"Allow me," he said softly. Tress jumped at the sound of his voice, but was in too much pain to move.

"Don't worry," he said, gently taking the cloth from her and dipping it in the water, "I would never do anything to compromise you, just as I would never do so to the woman I love."

"Your love?" Tress asked, her voice no more than a pained whisper.

"Yes," he said, his hands going to the first wound. She flinched but made no sound. "Her name is Elizabeth Swann."

"What is she like?"

Will kept talking. It would keep Tress' mind off the pain.

"She has hair the colour of golden taffee. Rich, radiant waves of it, all shimmering in the light. Her eyes are deep brown, the spirit in them seeming to spark out like lances. Her fair lashes cast shadows on her soft cheeks when her eyes are closed. Her mouth is ruby red, full of promise. Her skin is smooth and glows the colour of bronze." Remembering who he was talking to, he declined to mention her bosom. "Her voice is like warm honey, dripping down and swallowing you up in sweetness. Her hands are dainty, and tender – unlike mine."

"She sounds wonderful." Will reached a tender spot, and Tress inhaled sharply. "Where is she?"

Will's hands stalled for a moment. "She is in jail, back in Port Royal. As I should have been."

"What did you do?"

"The charges were conspiring to free a pirate."

"Jack."

"Yes."

Will finished, but he could tell that the stripes would continue to bleed unless he did something.

"Do you have bandages?"

"I think so – they should be in that chest over there." The spot she indicated was in front of her. Will hesitated.

"It's all right, Will," Tress said, barely able to support herself, "I know you won't look. I'm not in much of a state to worry about anything like that right now." Will saw the sense in that and went to get the bandages.

Tress, now bandaged, sat before Will, still in obvious pain. Will wordlessly handed her a shirt. Tress took it.

"Thank-you. You didn't…" She grimaced, trying to get the shirt on but failing. Will's hands gently pulled the garment over her shoulders. "You didn't have to do that," she finished.

"Of course I did. Did you think I'd just leave you there?"

"The men would have."

"I'm not one of them."

"I know."

"Will they order you on deck tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"Then you should rest." Tress tried to stand, her face a mask. Will was there in an instant, supporting her to her cot. The embrace lingered a moment longer than necessary, Tress still revelling in the touch of living flesh on her own. Tress lay down on her side. She would not look weak. Not in front of Will. Their hands were still clasped.

"If you need anything – I'll be here," Will said. Tress' eyes showed her gratitude towards this man she barely knew, showing her such kindness. Just like Jack.

Tress could feel sleep claiming her. Half-aware of what she was saying, she murmured: "They're not, you know."

"What?"

"Your hands."

Morning the next day dawned calm. There was no need for hands on deck – for the moment at any rate. Will half-opened his eyes. He had fallen asleep still holding Tress' hand. Tress herself was still asleep. He sat up, finding himself admiring the way the faint rays of the sun pushing through cracks in the woodwork played in her waves of auburn hair, at once less exciting and more deep and mysterious than the sun in Elizabeth's locks. There was a slight smile playing across Tress' face, which surprised him. The poor girl had been in so much pain the night before. No one should ever have to endure that, least of all a woman.

As if his recalling of her pain re-awoke it, Tress began to stir.

"Will…" her voice was stronger than the previous night. That was good.

"How are you feeling?"

She smiled a brave smile. "Better – thanks to you."

Will didn't know how to answer. "There's no need to go on deck at the moment – calm seas."

Her face showed her obvious relief. "That won't last long, though," she said, sobering. "Such is the nature of our voyage. Jones does not gain souls in calm seas."

"All the more reason you should take advantage of the time to rest."

Tress smiled. "I shouldn't keep you. I'll go to sleep, promise."

Will put himself on eye level with her, and Tress found herself once more admitted into a land of safety and stability. "Where else could I possibly be planning on going? Like it or not, you're stuck with me."

Tress giggled, feeling exhaustion, the product of a healing body, sweep over her. "I wouldn't exactly put it that way." Then she was asleep again. Will kept watch over her until night began to fall.

The bells rang suddenly, summoning all hands before the mast. Will stood, torn with indecision. He couldn't allow Tress to go out like she was. But Tress was already stirring, roused by over a decade of slavery to those bells. "All hands," she muttered.

"You don't have to go." His voice was low and urgent.

Tress sat up with difficulty. "You know I do, or not even you will be able to pull me back from where they will send me. I've had to do this before."

"I don't believe you." Will's voice was incredulous.

"Well, it was never this bad," Tress admitted. "The boson must have been having a bad day. He has them, from time to time."

She fought to stand and managed it, with only slight help from Will.

"The trick is to make yourself _look_ busy. Something low and easy and menial. Then, if anybody asks, you just say someone else gave you the orders."

Will looked at Tress with new admiration. She was a survivor.

"I swear to you, someday, I will get off this ship," Will said earnestly. "And when I do, I will take you with me. And you will go to see Sparrow again."

Tress grinned. "I'd like that. I'd like that very much."

They got on deck. It was another storm – the best place to pick up souls. Tress instantly disappeared, though Will could just barely see her off to the side, looking very busy at something. The salt water was stinging her, he could tell, though she hid it well.

"Turner!" The boson's voice lashed out like his whip. "Aloft!" Will went, too busy to realize that his thoughts were now on Tress, not Elizabeth.

The storm did not last long, however, and soon the crew fell to idleness, and idleness aboard ship quickly turns to gambling. Tress never gambled – it was idiotic to wager years of service in her position, but being of a quick and observant mind, she had figured out what the rules were soon enough. Will looked on in apparent interest, and Tress attempted to explain.

"The game is called Liar's Dice. Each player gets four dice and a cup. You're allowed to look at your own dice, but no one else's. However, you have to include your opponents' dice in your wager, so the point is to try and deceive everyone into thinking you have something you don't."

Will's intense gaze followed the players as the turns went around, sounding out the quirks and intricacies of the game. Bootstrap approached Will and they began to speak, while Tress continued watching the game.

"I challenge Davy Jones."

Tress stared uncomprehendingly at Will, her brain taking a few moments to process the information. In those moments, a pounding she had mistaken for her anxious heartbeat became louder and louder, in the end giving way to Davy Jones.

"Accepted," he spat, staring calculatingly at Will.

_Will, what are you thinking? _Tress' mind let out the anguished cry even as she stopped her lips from uttering it. But it was about to get worse.

Tress, terrified as always of the captain, scurried into the rigging as soon as he approached, and watched the proceedings with widened eyes as Jones told Will to name the stakes.

"My soul," Will offered, staunch, unblinking. "An eternity of service." Tress scarce heard the astonished murmurs that followed in the wake of this statement, above the buzzing in her ears.

_And your promise? _she found herself thinking. _How will you keep it if you're dead to me, William?_

Jones never faltered. "Against?" If he suspected a trap, he never let it on.

Will tossed down a worn, ragged piece of cloth as though throwing down a gauntlet, his air challenging and defiant. He harboured no delusions about how this might play. "I want this," he said. It was left for Jones to unfold, and when he did so, he was confronted with the image of a key. His key.

Tress let out a barely suppressed gasp. She had never seen the key to the Dead Man's Chest, but she had heard tales from the men, when they thought she wasn't listening. The two-pronged key to the devil's heart, on the Isle of Crossings, the key to the life and death of the sea itself.

Jones hesitated. "How do you know about that key?"

Will sat, to show that he was in for the wager, even if the standing Jones wasn't, maddeningly calm. Tress wondered vaguely how he did it. She certainly would not be able to stare so blandly into the face of death. "That's not part of the game, is it?" Still Jones hesitated. Never in all her years on the _Dutchman_, Tress reflected, had she seen anyone with the audacity to challenge Jones to a game. She supposed it was for the virtue of Elizabeth that Will was so brave, and she knew that Jones had not played dice for a long time. Nevertheless, Will had never played before. She wondered who had the advantage, who was more desperate. Both had their immortal souls on the line.

"You can still walk away," Will challenged. Tress waited with bated breath, hoping beyond hope that Jones would do just that.

But the captain would never walk away from a challenge, no matter how far-fetched or dangerous, and he sat at the table decisively, thereby accepting the wager. From the coils of his beard, he pulled the subject of the drawing, a two-pronged key cunningly wrought on a ring of iron. Tress saw Will's intense gaze mark where it was kept, and suddenly, in a flash of understanding, she understood what it was all for, this ruse. Two cups, two sets of dice, and then it would begin – the forfeiture of Will's soul. For Jack, and Elizabeth, perhaps, but even so, useless without being able to carry it out. She couldn't let him do this. Not alone.

Throwing away any chance she had of a life with Jack Sparrow, Tress dropped back down to the deck, prepared to cast her dice with the others. But the sound of a third cup on the table masked the sound she made, and she stared in shock at Bootstrap Bill, who by joining the game, accepted the stakes.

Will tried to stop him, but it was too late. The die had been cast.

Bootstrap started off the betting: "Three twos." Davy Jones was next: " four fours." Then it was Will's turn: "four fives."

It continued. "Six threes" was Bootstrap's guess. Jones followed with "Seven fives." Tress, hovering in the rigging, could see that the captain had it, and had backed Will into a corner. There was nothing that he could say without it being a lie. "Eight fives." He tried anyway, but Jones knew that it was a bluff. He was on the verge of calling Will a liar, and Tress held her breath. If he did, it was all over.

"Twelve fives." Everyone turned to look at Bootstrap Bill. Everyone knew that there were only twelve dice on the table. The chance of them being all fives was slim, at best.

It was obvious that Bill was a liar – Jones called him out, and he was bound to an eternity of service on the _Dutchman_. Turner was free to go ashore – the next time they made port, which was never. All in all, Jones won, but at least Will kept his soul. Tress told him as much, when she descended from the rigging.

But Will did not want to hear reason, or comfort. He had been prepared to risk it all for a glimpse of the key, but his father had ended up paying the price. And that was something that he could not forgive within himself.

He was polite enough, but quickly shook her off and went to be alone. Tress had not told him that she had been about to join the game when Bootstrap had intervened. It was not something he would welcome hearing. If he was wroth with self-guilt that his father, already bound to the _Dutchman _for a century, and already half a part of the ship, was further bound by his actions, how much more would it pain him that the only other living partisan of the ship had been ready to do the same?

Instead, she went back to the table, where Bootstrap remained sitting, lost in thought. The crew had returned to their various duties. They had been crewmates back on the _Pearl_ in the day, Tress and Bill, but she had been a young girl still, and could barely remember. Still, they had been on the _Dutchman _together for well-nigh a decade, and there was a barrier of strangeness between them – they'd not spoken much since Bootstrap first boarded, and then only in the course of duty. To her surprise, Bill spoke first.

"He wants to be alone, I suppose. I don't blame him. I wouldn't take it kindly, either, had our places been exchanged." He looked at her, the starfish on the side of his head hidden in shadow.

"It would have been me," she told him, sitting in the place Bill indicated, "had I been faster." The glance Bill accorded her this time was sharp with astonishment.

"You would bind yourself to the ship for William?" A reply came to Tress' lips hard and fast, but it would not go past her tongue. She hesitated.

"No. But I've done as much for Jack already – I'd no qualms about doing more. And Will is here for Jack, after all."

Bill nodded. "I thought as much. Canny as ever, Jack is, and as possessive of his precious freedom. When Jones sent me to him as messenger, I tried to get across to him again what I've told him all along, but he was as obstinate then as ever."

"'_That which yields is not always weak,_'" Tress quoted. "Yes, he spoke of it. But it seems that I was destined to learn that lesson more often than he," she said, indicating the situation at large. Bill mirrored her wry smile.

"Yes, I suppose so. But he's always been that way, Jack has, and if he wasn't, I don't think I'd feel the same about him. Would you?" Tress shook her head – Bill was right.

"Still, risking everything just to glimpse the key – he's more of a man than I ever was." Tress, looking at the silhouette of Will's back against the night, was forced to agree.

"Well, that's as may be, but it took you to get one, nevertheless." Bill grinned. "True enough."

Tress made to stand, wincing as her healing back straightened. Bill stood as well, eyes dark with concern.

"The wheel-rack, Miss Larke?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"I'm fine," Tress protested. "Will helped me."

A faint smile touched Bill's lips. "Get some rest, Miss Larke. You need it. And the next time you're assigned to the rack, tell me." Tress smiled and acquiesced, unable to say anything else in the face of such kindness. She went below.

Bill's eyes followed her until she was lost to the darkness of the hold, and then, willing or no, he went to William. Once he had his son's ear, he outlined his plan.

Will couldn't believe it. He had the key to the chest. He was getting out. As his father handed him various supplies and materials, Will's mind was elsewhere. He remembered – Tress had insisted she be included in the plan, until Will pointed out that there was no way she could move in any sort of secrecy with her back in the state it was. At last, under the weight of both Bootstrap's and Will's concerted efforts, Tress had resigned herself to her cot. Will looked at his father. "I'll be right back." Deaf to Bootstrap's muted cries of protest, Will went below.

Tress was there on her cot, where he had left her. He gently shook her awake.

"Miss Larke? It's time to go."

"Go where?"

"Anywhere. Anywhere but here." He held up the key. Tress gasped. "You actually got it!"

"I made a promise. Just as I made a promise to you. Come on. Can you stand?"

"I think I can manage." She did, and more. Limping on Will's shoulder, she made it to the boat without a single sound. Bootstrap was nearly frantic. He stopped dead when he saw Tress.

"Miss Larke?"

"Bootstrap," she acknowledged with a nod of her head. Turner looked at his son.

"You're getting her off?" Will nodded. "I keep my promises."

"Godspeed, the both of you."

Suddenly, they were in the water.

"Miss Larke, could you take that line?" Will asked, casting off their little rowboat. Tress did so and they were off, away from the hell that had been her home for thirteen years.

"I feel like I should be doing something," Tress admitted as she watched Will rowing.

"Don't worry about it. There's not that much to do, Miss Larke."

"Will – while we're together in a rowboat, at least, please do try to call me Tress."

"I'll try…" was Will's only reply as he looked her straight in the eye, causing a slight shiver to go down her spine, "Tress." The way he said her name made it sound like a prayer. She hadn't been called Tress by anyone since her days on the _Black Pearl_.

"He's not that awful, you know," she said. "Jack." At Will's disbelieving look, Tress hastened to defend the captain.

"He may not seem to have a conscience, but if you could have seen him before, when he was teaching me to sail… how gentle and humorous he was…" Tress shook her head. "But you probably never will. He never shows that side to anyone. I don't know why."

Will shook his head. "I hate to be the one to have to tell you this, but his crew mutinied and marooned him before he even got to Isla de la Muerta, with its cursed Aztec gold." Tress looked at Will in shock. "And even his compass doesn't work any more. He's gone mad with drink and heat. He agreed to find 100 innocent souls for Jones to weasel out of giving his own. I don't think he's quite the man you remember."

Tress lapsed into stunned silence, Will unable to reach her and regretting his harsh words.

The rest of the journey passed in a bit of a daze for Tress. She remembered getting taken aboard a strange ship, and Will trying to talk to her. She didn't remember what she said, but it was something completely unrelated to the topic, something like: "Keep to the Code." Her belief in Jack had been shaken.

The ship's sudden stop, though, brought her out of her dazed slump. She followed Will up on deck, the fresh air bracing after her self-imposed exile. But fear pervaded her, too, fear that was unreasonable if they had just hit a reef. But Will looked at her, and his eyes told her the truth that she did not want to know. She stumbled back from him, trying with all her might to believe that the thing that held them helpless in the middle of the ocean was just a reef. But she had experiences of summoning the Kraken while aboard the_ Dutchman,_ and this matched all the signs.

"I've doomed us all," Will murmured to no-one in particular. Tress reached out a comforting hand, not quite sure what to say. But the tremor that rocked the ship deprived her of the opportunity. Her back was still aching painfully, so Will had to haul her into the rigging with him. Balancing uneasily atop the mainmast in a storm that was not of the world, Tress clung for dear life and tried desperately not to retch. Will divided his attention between watching her and keeping an eye on the battle. The ship pitched violently, and suddenly, Will wasn't there any more.

Tress made a startled sound and looked over the side. He was hanging on by a dagger point to the bottom of the main sail. A slash the length of the canvas was a mute tribute to his passage.

"Will!" Tress called. "Will!" She couldn't see him. An icy cold feeling pervaded her heart and she couldn't breathe.

Tress, too preoccupied to keep tabs on what was going on, was unprepared for the slimy appendage that glanced off her waist and put her off-centre. In her injured state, it was just enough to knock her over. She cried out as the tentacle moved on and left her wobbling precariously. With a sudden sick feeling, she felt herself falling.

Will's arm shot out and grasped her wrist, the result being that she didn't fall, but hung, suspended by his surprising strength. Tress screamed again as her wounded back protested angrily, but she was glad of the help. Better to feel pain than to be unable to feel anything at all.

Will gave a tremendous heave and Tress felt herself on solid wood again, and blessed whatever powers had sent Will to her. As she lay there, quivering with the remnants of her paralyzing fear, Will carefully bent down to her. Over the screams and the sounds of battle below them, he called:

"Are you all right?" Tress worked to gather enough breath to answer, nodding. Two smaller tentacles reached up towards them. With a ring of steel, Will's sword was out and ready. He stood over Tress, warding the tentacles away from her.

Tress wept unashamedly with gratitude and love for her knight in shining armour. There came a sound like steel bending in two, and out of the sea came two massive arms, showering the ship with spray and slime. Tress was incapable of a coherent thought. She just clung there, caught between two mortal fears.

The ship began to go over.

"Jump!" his call came to her faint and far. "Tress, jump now!" Tress heeded and leapt as far out into the ocean as she could, hitting the water with tremendous force and almost blacking out. A hand grabbed her and dragged her to safety on a stray plank of wood, her back protesting angrily. She cried out, spluttering water.

"Are you all right?" Will panted.

"I will be."

"The _Dutchman_!" Will exclaimed. "Quick – underwater!"

Tress did as she was told, only to follow Will as he swam _toward_ the ship. "Are you mad?" Tress wanted to ask, but she couldn't, underwater.

Silently, Will indicated the place she was to go – the concealed fo'c'sle behind the figurehead. He went to have a look at what was happening on deck.

A few minutes later he returned with a look of horror in his eyes.

"No survivors," he said grimly. "They were all killed."

Tress sat, wincing as her salt-encrusted, wounded back took the weight. Will looked at her with concern.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way – for us to escape only to end up hiding on the place we escaped from."

She shook her head. "That's all right. This is quite brilliant – and it will certainly take us where we want to go faster than rowing." Will turned away, troubled.

"What is it?" Tress asked.

"Something I saw on that ship – Elizabeth's wedding dress."

Tress stared. "You mean all this has ruined your wedding?"

"Yes. I was arrested on my way to the ceremony."

Tress reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Will – I'm so sorry…"

He touched her hand, sending a small tremor down her arm. "It's not your fault. It's mine. Those innocent people… All because of me."

"No, William," Tress said, her voice stern. "You mustn't think that way. You had no idea that this would happen. You were fulfilling a promise to Miss Swann – and to me."

A sudden swell sent them tumbling into each other. Tress giggled awkwardly, one hand on his partially bared chest, but neither made any attempt to move apart. They drew nearer to each other, hesitant, Will slipping a careful arm around Tress' shoulders. And then he kissed her.

Tress' eyes went wide with the culmination of all her unconscious bodily desires as she kissed him too, her bondage of thirteen years slowly sinking into the background. For as long as she lived, she would never be able to describe the feelings she had in that moment.

Then it was over, and the two were apart, their closeness of moments before already destroyed.

"I'm sorry," Will said, looking away from her, "but I had to do that."

Tress touched a cautious hand to her lips, hardly daring to believe that the kiss had been real.

"Do you think that I didn't want it, too?" Will looked up in shock. "But what of Miss Swann?" Tress asked. Will didn't answer.

"I think we've both been terribly selfish," Tress said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them for many hours. Will looked up in surprise. "If I may be allowed to be frank?" she asked. He nodded.

"It's only natural, I suppose, after being the only two living beings on the ship of hell to have feelings for each other, but in the long term, I don't think those feelings do us justice. It was a moment of passion, if I may be so bold. We were free, I was injured, you'd just saved my life, the whole bit. I don't want to ruin your life or Miss Swann's. I won't pursue you again."

Will closed his mouth, it having fallen open in shock, and then nodded again. "You're right. You're a unique woman, Tress – and you have a gift for expression. I didn't mean to put you in that position."

"Neither did I," Tress said, and thus it stood afterwards between them.

There was a strange sucking sound. Will looked around quickly.

"She's going under, Tress. Hold on!" Soon the ship was completely submerged. Will motioned for her to swim up and out, and she did so, following his lead until they broke the surface. The sun rained down once more. Will looked around him in confusion – there was no trace of the ship to be found.

"Does she do this often?" he asked.

Tress shrugged as best she could treading water. "She did it a few times when I was aboard – they just told me to stay in the cabin. It kept most of the water out." Will had sudden visions of Tress being trapped in the tiny cabin slowly filling up with water, but banished the image from his mind. He looked around again.

"Is that Isla Cruces?"

"Yes – that must be where Jones hid his chest!"

"Come on," Will said, starting to swim toward it, "that's where they'll be."

When they reached the shore, they found that a longboat from the _Pearl _was already there. Pintel and Ragetti were also there, looking as though they had seen the dead.

"It's Turner!" Pintel said, "and… it couldn't be… Miss Larke!" The two pirates helped them out of the water. Will immediately began asking about Elizabeth, but Ragetti's gaze was lingering on Tress' soaked shirt where it had no business to be. Tress slapped him about the face with the care of ritual long practiced. "Oh, get on with you," she cried, laughing, actually not bothered at all, "you can't tell me you haven't changed that much in ten years!"

"I haven't," Ragetti said, rubbing his face, "but you certainly have." This time, it was Will who punched him. The two grinned at each other. "That does make me feel better," Will announced, knocking out Pintel too for good measure.

"Stay here with the boat," he said, already departing for the trees, "We'll all be back shortly." He disappeared.

Tress sat by the boat for a while, but the presence of the _Flying Dutchman _nearby unnerved her. It was also not very stimulating, as Pintel and Ragetti were out cold, then went off in search of the inland excitement once they woke.

Tress, true to Will's instructions, stayed near the boat. But when a gang of about six crewmembers of the _Dutchman_ rose out of the water and came towards her, she could not keep her promise. She leapt up, running into the forest with no clear purpose in mind, only thinking to get as much distance between herself and her former mates as possible.

The foliage grasped her, scraped at her clothing and aggravated her back. But Tress didn't care. She was filled with fear at the thought of the slimies chasing her.

"Miss Larke?" It was a disbelieving cry from Ragetti. "What's the matter?" Pintel was with him, and another woman. Tress' heart squeezed in her chest as she realized that the woman's face perfectly fit the description Will had given her. This, without a doubt, this was Elizabeth Swann. And even in the depths of her desire, she could not fault Will for his choice.

She would have answered Ragetti's query, but the advent of a half-dozen slimies bursting out of the trees just behind her rendered it redundant. The pirates turned and ran, with Tress just behind them. Elizabeth held the swords, and between them Pintel and Ragetti carried what Tress recognised with a jolt as the Dead Man's Chest.

"What did you say your name was?" Elizabeth gasped as they ran, over the yells of the slimies pursuing.

"Tress!" Tress managed, trying with much effort to keep up with her back's wounded state.

"Can you handle a sword, Miss Tress?" Elizabeth asked, offering one of the cutlasses she carried on the run.

Tress smiled grimly. "Yes. Jack taught me." The wonder in Elizabeth's eyes would have to wait. She passed Tress one of the swords.

"Very well then," she panted, "I guess we'll just have to take them ourselves." Tress spared an instant to stare wide-eyed at this woman that brandished her sword against six un-dead crewmen. She gave a few of them some deep cuts, but Tress knew that they would not be down for long. So they ran, ran until they were spent, and then ran some more, knowing all the while (or at least Tress did) that it would not be enough.

The four got into a kind of rhythm to spread two swords among all of them, calling whenever they found it needful. Tress just continued to run except when the sword was tossed to her, but then she always tossed it back, trusting to her speed and agility to keep her alive. But suddenly she found herself confronted with one of her former mates. She didn't even know his name. He drew his dagger, leering at her in the sunlight. Tress began to back up, knowing as she did that it would not save her life.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elizabeth turn and notice her situation. In a second, there was a bright flash coming towards her through the air. There was no time for thought – Tress reached out and caught the shining blade. It felt strange and yet somehow natural in her hand. It was pure instinct that guided her now. In a trice, she had turned and cut open the abdomen of the slimy assailing her. He went down, his leer now turned to a grimace of pain.

Horrified, Tress tossed the sword back to Elizabeth as if it were red-hot, unable to bear the sight of it in her hand. She continued to run, as if she could outrun the deed itself. She kept running until she was out of the trees and onto the sand, the other three not far behind her. Also converging upon the boat was a strange rolling mill-wheel, which Tress had not seen while it rolled past them because she had been busy taking down the slimy, and also…

Tress' heart almost stopped. She couldn't believe it. It was Jack. Finally, after over a decade… it was Jack.

Too busy watching Jack, Tress didn't notice the slimy crossing her path. He brandished his nun chucks, growling menacingly at her. And there was another glint of steel coming at her. This time, Tress had time to think, but would not allow it. It only led to distraction. In one fluid motion, she caught the sword and turned, driving it into the heart of the crewman. A look of shock crossed his face as he fell. Tress turned to Jack, whose sword she held, and found that he was right beside her, staring with unabashed wonder. Tress attempted a tremulous grin, the feelings inside her threatening to burst, unable to say anything but "thanks." She tried to pass the sword back, but Jack, eyes dark with too many emotions for Tress to name, picked up one of the oars –

And struck Will across the back of the head. Tress, shocked, stared at Jack in complete bewilderment as Elizabeth ran to help Will. Jack, ignoring Tress completely, turned his attention instead to Elizabeth.

"Leave him, unless you're planning on using him to hit something with!" The sound of his voice, after all these years… Even though she was furious at his actions towards Will, she couldn't help but laugh. Jack stared at her anew, and Tress shrugged helplessly before turning to slash at the knees of a slimy. The party continued to back up, unable to move or do aught but defend, as Jones' crewmen attacked.

Elizabeth's voice was audibly kept from trembling. "We're not getting out of this."

"Not with the Chest." The voice was vaguely familiar, though when Tress turned she couldn't for the life of her recognise the face. The voice, however, conjured up images of a serious, high-born boy with dreams of joining the navy.

Elizabeth stared at the familiar stranger. "You're mad!"

The man ignored the comment and grabbed the Chest. "Don't wait for me," he said, cutting his way through the loose ring of slimies and disappearing into the trees, slimies in tow.

"Norrington?" The name was just a whisper in Tress' shock. There was too much that she had missed, too much that had happened.

"I say we respect his final wish," Jack said, and it was the only time Tress could remember hearing his voice falter. "Aye," she agreed, sending up a quick but heartfelt prayer for Norrington's soul. They all clambered into the boat, Pintel and Ragetti rowing, Elizabeth tending Will, and Jack clutching a jar of dirt against his chest protectively. Tress sat in the bow, feeling oddly out of place and wondering how Jack had even made it this far in his quest for the Chest.

Jack gave Tress an unreadable look and climbed the rope ladder, still cradling the jar of dirt. She helped Elizabeth move Will – it hurt, how Jack had barely even acknowledged her existence after thirteen years apart. She was sure he recognised her, of that, she was certain.

A cautious head poked over the side – it was Gibbs. He let out a shout: "It's Miss Larke!" The cry was soon taken up by the entire crew. When she was helped over the side, she was surrounded by the remaining crew, some old members from the pre-_Pearl_ days, others that she hadn't met. But even those she'd never seen before were there to congratulate her on her miraculous escape from hell. Her story had spread like wildfire, it seemed, while she was climbing. But the pirates seemed to insist on slapping her on the back, and finally, unable to take it, she let out a yell of pain that stopped all conversation short in its tracks.

"What's the matter, Miss Larke?" Gibbs asked.

"It's my back – I was flogged on the _Dutchman_." Gibbs' eyes went wide with fear and admiration. He shoved some of the men nearest him.

"Get back, you ingrates," he ordered, "she's been flogged!" The crowd immediately abated, murmuring apologies. She smiled at them.

"That's all right, mates." She glanced at Jack, who was disappearing through the door of his cabin, still clutching the jar of dirt. "Is that the dirt of some country Jack's just claimed his own?"

"Not really. It's a long story, Miss Larke. You've missed a lot."

"I'm sure I have," she said, "but if all goes well you'll have plenty of time to fill me in. We've all got some tales to tell." There was a general agreement through the crew.

Tress excused herself from them, going over to Jack's cabin. She was strangely nervous, though she had no right to be, around him. He might not want to see her, but she had wanted to see him for thirteen years and she was damned if she would let his mood swings deny her now. She knocked on the door.

No answer came from inside, but she heard stirrings within the cabin. She sighed. _You were right, Bootstrap. Jack can be so stubborn, sometimes…_ Testing the knob, she found that it was open. Taking a deep breath, she turned it and went in.

Jack Sparrow was standing there, so many emotions conflicting in his face it was difficult to tell one from the other.

"So you're real," he said. Thankfully he had abandoned his jar of dirt – it was sitting on his desk. Tress tread cautiously into the room, treating Jack as though he were fine china. "Yes, of course I'm real. I came back to see you, Jack. Will set me free."

"You weren't real before," Jack said, still seeming as though he were talking to himself. "The other times I saw you."

Tress frowned, confused. "You mean, on the _Dutchman_?" But Jack was muttering now.

"I'd always seen you… everywhere I went you were there, off to the side of someone's shoulder, like you'd always been at mine. The first time I realised you weren't there was the time I realised no one else could see you… they thought I was crazy. That first time on the island… I had been there for two days and then suddenly there you were, drinking rum with me. That was when I truly realised what I'd done."

Tress stepped closer to Jack, who stepped farther away from her. That realisation hurt her more than any of the lashes the boson had given her. Jack had been hallucinating about her.

"You never talked," Jack continued, as though she weren't there. "That should have been my first clue. You never said a word, you were just there. Around me. I tried to give you rum once… wasted a very good bottle of rum. I never tried to give you anything again. Then I saw you standing there on that beach, fighting that thing. And I tossed you the sword, knowing full well that it would drop right through you, just like the rum. But you caught it." The planks of the floor had been very fascinating to Jack up until now, but at this he looked up and met my eyes, and I took a step back from the power of them. Jack was quite mad. "You caught it, and I thought it was just another stage of my hallucinations. And you talked… you spoke to me. I wanted it to be real… I so want it to be real…" Jack's voice was growing higher now, more panicked. I couldn't bear to see him like this any longer. I rushed over, wrapping him in an enormous hug as tears I did not want to acknowledge squeezed out of my eyes. "I'm sorry, Jack. I'm so sorry. But I'm here now, and real, and with you."

"Tress?" he asked. He couldn't believe it. Tress was crying and laughing, and Jack was weeping too. "Tress, darling, is it really you?" Tress nodded into his chest, overcome with emotion. It was her same old Jack. His embrace still smelled of stale drink and a lack of personal hygiene, but it didn't matter. What mattered was that they were together again.

Jack looked down into her face. He wiped his eyes, and Tress wiped hers, standing up straight. They had a lot to talk about.

"Tress, dearest, how can you ever forgive me?" Jack asked. "I let you go to the _Dutchman_, and then I lost everything you had sacrificed yourself for." Tress hugged him again.

"The way I hear tell, it was a good thing you never got to Isla de la Muerta – until you knew better, at least," she said, smiling, "and you do have the _Pearl_."

"But for how much longer, I wonder?" Jack said, his face unusually morbid. He looked her in the eye.

"Ventress Larke, I am so sorry. More sorry than I can say." Tress bowed, fractionally. Sparrow was rarely so sincere. "Apology accepted." They then lapsed into the swapping of tales and drinking of ale quite quickly, almost as though they had never been apart.

Tress also formally met Elizabeth Swann. She found herself staring at the beauty and fiery passion contained in the woman. Elizabeth, always the socialist, quickly sought her out.

"Hello. I'm Elizabeth. Your name's Tress, right? I heard that you were on the _Dutchman_, too. With Will."

"Yes, I was on Jones' ship for about a decade, until William got me off." Tress immediately noted that Elizabeth used the name Will, and determined to use a different term.

"I heard a bit of the story from Will." Elizabeth, as usual, seemed not to notice. "I think you were so brave to do what you did. I wish I had the courage to do that. Maybe, if you want, we could become friends."

"I'd like that. I'd like that very much, Miss Swann."

"Oh come now. If we're to be friends, you must call me by my proper name, Tress."

"Very well, Elizabeth."

Never mind that Tress was so jealous of Elizabeth that she felt her heart would burst. Never mind that she felt that she had betrayed the woman she had barely met so completely that every time she looked at her being so friendly her soul burned in shame. Never mind that Tress did so want to be friends with Elizabeth, but felt that she could not because of who she was and what she had done. None of that was on the surface. None of it need be spoken. She would live a life of silent desperation, hiding her true feelings, her true self – just to get herself nearer to the person named William Turner.

But the time of peace and quiet did not last long. The Kraken attacked. Tress grabbed an abandoned sword and hacked with absolutely no finesse, just trying to stay alive. There was so much screaming and death that she thought she would go mad if she did not stop. It was not until the battle replayed in her nightmares that she realized that she had been screaming too. Tentacles grasped at her, and she fell to the deck, feeling the inevitable pulling that would bring her to her doom beneath crushing fangs. Her flailing arms grasped something that was fastened down, and she gripped it with all her strength, knowing that if her hands failed, there was nothing left between her and eternity. Tress held on so hard that her knuckles were white, and yet the slimy hold on her leg held fast. The pain in her leg as it was pulled two ways was excruciating, and Tress wondered if she would lose the limb to save her life.

Quite abruptly, there was blessed relief. Tress looked up through fearful eyes to see Will standing above her, holding the sword that had severed the marauding tentacle. His hand entered her vision, and she took it, allowing him to help her to her feet.

"Are you all right?" he asked. She nodded, even as she found she could not put weight on her left leg. Will noticed as well, and grimaced.

"You need to get somewhere safe," he said, and helped her to a niche in between two large crates.

"Stay there," he said, "I'll be back for you." Then he was off, back into the melee of battle. Tress gazed after him, the pain in her leg starting to sear as the pounding adrenaline left her. She kept her eyes on him, as though the very act of thinking of Will would keep him from harm.

Shots were firing everywhere, their owners not even knowing where they were going. They shot at imagined foes, they shot at their own people, they shot at nothing. Tress was barely aware of a slight wind passing inches from her face before a piercing pain appeared in her right hand. She gripped her wrist, examining it – a bullet had grazed her palm.

Exhausted and in pain, Tress cowered in between the crates; having lost sight of Will long ago, she had lost her lifeline to the real world. She drifted in and out of unconsciousness. A huge explosion entered her dreams, manifesting itself as a massive wave of fire come to begin Armageddon. She woke with a start, realizing that the noise that she was trying so hard to place was silence. She fought to stand, hoping to find out what was going on. She grimaced and slumped down again, her injured leg unable to take her weight.

"Tress?" Will was there. Again he helped her to stand, this time picking her up and carrying her like a child. Later he was to tell her that there were tears pouring down her face and she seemed half-asleep.

"Come on," he said, "we'll go get Jack."

Jack had decided to abandon the _Pearl_ now that it no longer represented freedom. He said a last farewell to his beloved ship as Will helped Tress into the boat. Tress wept openly at the thought of losing the _Pearl_, her only home for so long.

What Tress and Will were witness to that day would haunt them for the rest of their lives. Elizabeth performed the Judas kiss that condemned Jack Sparrow. Tress was woken out of her daze just soon enough to see her new friend in Elizabeth betray her saviour William Turner with her father. The sight almost sent her back into delusions. She clung to Will, wondering if she could provide any comfort at all. Wondering if she would be able to receive any.

The coracle made a clear escape, but Tress could not bear to watch as the monster that had caused so many so much pain took down the _Pearl_. Captain Jack Sparrow was dead.

Tress sat next to Will, this time at Tia Dalma's. There was so much that had happened to them during the last minutes of the _Black Pearl_ that Tress' brain had shut off, and she knew the others' had as well. Jack had died, Will had been betrayed, Barbossa had appeared – all in a few short minutes, or so it seemed. There were too many emotions running through Tress to process. Will nudged her out of her stupor.

"Are you sure you want to come?"

She looked up at him and tried her best to grin.

"Are you kidding? I want to see World's End."

* * *

**A/N: **As you might have guessed, the next story will concern the events of At World's End. I made the end fight deliberately short and vague, to express tangibly how incredibly out of it Tress was. A reminder that many reviews sooner update! TTFN! 


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